Forever
by thephantomphoenix
Summary: When Boromir's maid, Lothiriel, is taken to Rivendell, she expects to go home as soon as possible. However, as Lothiriel soon finds, that will not be possible. T to be safe. SORRY I SUCK AT SUMMARIES! DISCONTINUED


Forever is a long time to live, but it's an even longer time to die. The Elves of Mirkwood, Rivendell and Lothlorien knew as much. Though each day was new, after some time history seems to repeat itself. This is why, as much as they laughed at them, they envied humans. Though humans were not wise or graceful, they had a reason to live for that day. Every day was something new when you were a human, and no day was like the next.

Lothiriel Halassiel would beg to differ. Life as a human, in her opinion, was slow and overrated. At 17 years of age, Lothiriel was employed as a maid to Boromir Denethorion, son of the Gondorian steward. When she wasn't bossing around the other girls in his service, Lothiriel had her own duties. It was her job to keep his clothes clean, fetch him food, and make sure all of his weaponry was in order.

Usually by this age, a maid in Gondor would be married; Lothiriel was far from marriage and children. It's not that she wasn't pretty; she was gorgeous, by human standards. Her hair had been uncut since the day she was born, and the blue-black curls fell down past her hips when it was out of it's bun. She was of average height for a human, though she was curved in very feminine ways. Her skin was pale like that of the elves, though she spent much time in the sun. However, Lothiriel's most shocking feature was her deep blue eyes, like that of the ocean, or so she assumed.

Lothiriel was not married because she was, shall we say, bull-headed and strong-willed. While the other women of Gondor would giggle like idiots and simper like fools in front of men, Lothiriel would talk politics and challenge them to drinking games, which she often won. Lothiriel was no damsel in distress, and she made that very clear.

Every month or so, Lord Boromir would leave o hunt, which left all in his service from two to three days. Most of the servants left to be with their families; Lothiriel had no family. She spent her time on the practice fields, hitting those dummies for all she was worth. It was in this way that Lothiriel kept herself strong, and found something worth living for.

"You called, my lord?" Lothiriel asked with a curtsy, her eyes trained on the muddy boots before her. A rough hand pulled her face back up with a smile, and Boromir Denethorion released the chin of his favorite maid. He chuckled lightly as he recalled every time she chastised him for tracking mud through his quarters, starting when she was naught but five years old.

"Lothiriel," Boromir began, taking a seat on a stone ledge within his father's house. "Lothiriel, I must leave to Rivendell to discuss some…disturbing things with the wisest being of all; I go to seek the counsel of Elrond Halfelven. Within the next five days I will leave. It will only be a few weeks' journey, and it will be relatively warm. Provisions will be a necessity, though some hunting will have to be done, I suppose. It will be tiring, but Rivendell is a splendid place so it shall be worth the journey."

Lothiriel studied the weathered face of her master as he looked at his own hands. He was at least 10 years her senior, though it often seemed that the lowly maid was wiser and more matured than he. However, it was times like these when she reconsidered her verdict. "Sir," she asked timidly, causing Boromir to look upon her. "Why are you telling me, sir?"

"Because I need someone to come with me," Boromir said with a hint of a smirk, watching his maid's eyes light up with excitement. However, Lothiriel had a fantastic, as the other men of Gondor called it, poker-face, and she was able to merely smile and nod.

"Many thanks, my lord." Lothiriel bumped into a young serving boy as she backed away, causing Boromir to laugh. Her face flushed as she curtsied one last time and retreated for the quarters kept by the female servants. It was a matter of minutes before she burst through the doors and shrieked with joy, eliciting many groans and shouts of, "Shut it!" from her fellow maids.

You!" Lothiriel shot back to the group as she flopped down upon her small cot, giggling like a schoolgirl. Rivendell. The name alone flowed like water from her tongue. Lothiriel had always longed to see the elves of Rivendell, had always wished to leave Gondor. There was nothing here for her; nothing except for a lifetime of servitude and an abundance of arrogant nobles. As the lamps faded out, Lothiriel shut her yes and smiled broadly. She was going to Rivendell.

Legolas Thranduilion sighed as he restrung his bow, running his hands lightly over the worn wood. This bow had survived many years with him, and he was sure it would survive many more. Legolas nocked an arrow and it flew from him and to the center of his makeshift target with ease. Another day, another practice. After nearly 1000 years, this was getting repetitive.

Legolas smiled grimly as he sensed a presence behind him, though did not halt in his target practice. Another arrow struck center, breaking the previous one in half. The person behind him cleared his throat. "Hello, father."

"If you practice much more, you will be doing so night and day," Thranduil chuckled, lowering his son's bow with one hand. Legolas sighed and looked to the ground before offering his father a wry smile.

"Even then, I would not be able to find the wretched creature, Gollum, again," he said darkly, causing the older elf to sigh. Thranduil clasped Legolas' shoulder firmly and looked into his eyes; his mother had had the exact same eyes, the startling blue orbs that seemed to read into everything.

"I do not blame you, son," Thranduil said, causing Legolas to break eye contact and turn from his father's grasp. The king sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day. "Nobody blames you."

"I do," Legolas whispered, knowing Thranduil would still hear it as he walked from the practice grounds. Had he been mortal, tears may have come, but he was stronger than that. It took a lot more than a fight with their father to make an elf cry.

As he neared the stables, Legolas grabbed the bag he had prepared that morning and slung it over his shoulder, along with his bow. Double-checking that his knife was in place, Legolas swung onto his horse and was off immediately. Mirkwood blurred past him as he began the long and familiar journey to Rivendell.


End file.
